


Keeping Up Appearances

by recrudescence



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/F, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The closest they normally came to speaking was during attendance, when Parkinson and Patil uttered consecutive "here"s, same as in Potions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Up Appearances

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Femslash Porn Battle](http://grdnofevrythng.livejournal.com/233878.html). Prompt: easy.

Parvati never understood how Hermione could wake up two hours before breakfast and spend the extra time _reading_. She woke up at the same time herself, but it was to take a long shower, style her hair, apply makeup, and plan an outfit for the day. Normally Hermione's attention remained riveted to her book, but one morning when Parvati cried, "I have nothing to _wear_!" to no one in particular, Hermione had turned a page and furrowed her brow and said, "You do realize we have uniforms, don't you?"

After fastening her braid, Parvati hadn't deigned to reply beyond a long-suffering, "Never mind." She was acutely aware of the school's dress policy, but that made _getting_ dressed even more challenging and was definitely no excuse for a lackluster appearance. Hogwarts's uniforms were charmed against modification, and altering them by sewing or cutting only resulted in confiscation of the offensive article and a detention. Parvati still regretted that they had found that out the hard way. Lavender's idea of turning a blouse into a halter had been pretty kicky and she had looked forward to borrowing it.

Hogwarts, Parvati knew, was a prestigious institution and attending was an honor. She wasn't coasting, she was grateful, she was positive her mother's lecturing had ensured she would never forget the privilege. But one of the most agonizing things about boarding school was the lack of opportunities for sartorial creativity. And Parvati had been looking for alternatives since first laying eyes on the blandness she was expected to assume for the next seven years. Her mother had explained uniforms were there for a reason, so students weren't so preoccupied with their looks that they neglected their studies. Some girls—like Hermione, who would probably wear a barrel as long as it allowed her to fit behind a desk—had shrugged and gone with that logic. Padma, disappointingly, hadn't batted an eye. Parvati still failed to see why being intelligent had to mean you were dowdy as well.

She and Lavender had started taking liberties early on, seeing how much they could get away with, practicing beauty charms on each other—because one of the other agonizing things about boarding school was the lack of opportunities for regular haircuts unless you wanted a basic few-inches-shorter job from the infirmary—with success rates that increased with practice. So far, they'd managed to sneak by with things like subtle makeup, wearing stockings instead of socks sometimes, or leaving a few buttons on their blouses undone. Parvati would charm Lavender's hair into curls, or Lavender would comb Parvati's over her shoulders until it fell in a long black sheet, all the while complaining that it was a wasted effort. Most of the boys were too daft to notice subtlety or too nervous to mention it, and most of the other Gryffindor girls took only a moderate interest in appearance, aside from a few second years who were always clamoring for makeovers.

It was gratifying to know they weren't the only ones testing the boundaries of the dress code, that some of the Slytherins had gone a few steps further—always a Slytherin impulse, Lavender scoffed once, hitching her skirt a little higher. Parvati's school skirt was standard length. She didn't fold down the waist like Pansy Parkinson, who went catwalking down the halls with the prim plaid cloth swinging well above her knees and managed to look much taller than she actually was. She wore her robes in class and between those would shuck them off and fold it casually over one arm, letting the whole world see what small changes she had slipped into her outfit. Pansy was pretty in a strange way, with her fine hair, assertive eyes, and small smug nose. Parvati would catch herself watching her often, in spite of Lavender's disdain, and for the longest time assumed it was because she admired Pansy's fashion sense. But somewhere in there, between the frustrating male population and Pansy's stylish iconoclasm, her thoughts turned from admiring the skirt to wanting to take it off.

It took Parvati herself quite a while to figure this out, but she eventually pegged chorus as most incriminating setting. A large percentage of the student body behaved as if Quidditch was the only extracurricular activity at Hogwarts, and when Parvati had joined chorus in her first year she had half-expected to be the only one in it. The group was small at best, but in a way it was refreshing to have at least one activity that wasn't separated by school years. Between housing, classes, and most meals, mingling seemed like it was frowned upon so often.

Also, it was arranged so that Parvati was in the last row while Pansy was off to one side and in the front, which made it easy for Parvati to watch her without Pansy noticing.

She hadn't expected to find it so intriguing. The closest they normally came to speaking was during attendance, when Parkinson and Patil uttered consecutive "here"s, same as in Potions. In Potions, though, Parvati's attention tended to be monopolized either by her work or by Lavender, and Pansy normally sat behind her anyway. Singing, on the other hand, didn't require that.

Sometimes she would wander into an empty classroom to run through scales and whatever pieces they were working on. She and Pansy were in different sections, but she wondered if Pansy knew she watched her. Each day, she would see Pansy concentrating on the music and nothing else, always very serious and precise. Clearly, she practiced on her own as well.

"Um," said Parvati, plucking up the courage to do more than mutely open her mouth after one practice. "I'm not so sure about the bit we went over last—the Greek one by Diantha the Dulcet? I'd like to work on the harmonizing some with an alto. D'you maybe want to go over it later?"

Pansy just shrugged slightly. "Yeah, okay."

It went relatively well. Uneventful, but not disastrous, which was what Parvati had been afraid of. Pansy was pure-blooded, but she didn't go on about how they should sing the Dark Lord's praises or how Gryffindors should know better than to approach Slytherins. She wasn't some evil elitist snob, just another girl who happened to come from a lofty family and, Parvati's subconscious helpfully reminded her, to wear short skirts. Also, she was of the opinion that the two of them sounded decent together.

Pansy apparently did as well, since she tossed an, "I'm free Thursday afternoon," over her shoulder as she left, which Parvati interpreted as a request for another practice session.

Thursday went smoothly, as did the next Monday, and the Wednesday of the same week. Tuesday culminated in the two of them quizzing each other on musical terminology. Pansy was wearing heels this time, Parvati had on black tights, and she couldn't help congratulating herself on the choice; Lavender had told her opaque was more fashion-forward this season than sheer.

Arpeggios and appoggiaturas passed through the discussion at a leisurely pace, with Pansy working her way into every definition that crossed Parvati's mind. _Legato_: the languid motion as she stretched her arms over her head, revealing a slim white line of stomach, and crossed her legs. _Tutta forza_: the way she strutted and didn't care what others thought. _Maestoso_: the imperious turn of her head and the way her hair fell like a veil. The mnemonics seemed nothing but natural and it never occurred to her to question that.

Parvati was thrown for another loop when she was flipping through the new Witch Weekly back in the dormitory and realized she was paying closer attention to the models than anything else. She did, however, check her horoscope, which advocated self-confidence and warned against overindulging in uncooked vegetables. Nothing about unanticipated shifts in sexual preference. Frowning, she rummaged through her bag for her Divination charts.

She was finishing her homework when Lavender bounded onto the couch beside her and noticed the abandoned magazine. "Oh, my God, I just finished this. Have you seen the photo of Gareth Shanahan?"

"Of _who_?"

Parvati considered confiding in Lavender. They'd shared everything, more or less, aside from a few times when one had spitefully frizzed the other's hair and not said a word about it. Lavender would be supportive, she always was, unless she thought Parvati had bungled a slice of gossip. Lavender would stand by her and make bisexuality seem so chic it would probably start a trend. She imagined Lavender defending her, unfazed by opposition: _Well, with boys like these, who wouldn't go for girls instead? What, are you jealous they'd rather be with each other instead of you? Sod off, you know you can't blame them._ And, since Lavender could turn anything into an opportunity for reinvention, there would be the usual barrages of clothes and cosmetics, and nothing between them would change. _All right, let's get you made up so no girl can resist you—how about that brown-haired Ravenclaw fourth-year, d'you think she's cute?_ It wouldn't take much, just a few words and a little clarification. She tried it out in her head. _Lavvie, I think I might like girls. _

"Gareth Shanahan, you twit." Parvati blinked. "Lead guitarist for the Corbies?" Lavender persisted, sounding mildly exasperated.

"What the bloody hell is a corby?" _No, I mean, I think I** like** them. _

"No clue. He's hot, though, isn't he?" Lavender grinned and began flipping through the pages, while Parvati wondered if she should fix a thermos of tea for later. Good for the vocal cords, and maybe Pansy would want some as well, which meant they would drink from the same cup, and why in the world was that suddenly such an intoxicating possibility? Her deliberation was halted by a demanding jab to her arm and Lavender's accusing gaze.

"Are you even listening to me? I said, he moves so his shirt falls open a bit if you watch long enough and—"

"Gotta go, Lavvie, I'll have a look later." Parvati gave what she hoped was an apologetic smile. Pansy was probably never apologetic, she deduced, but that just made pleasing her doubly beneficial and all the more reason to try offering tea. She resolved to take some sweetener as well, in case Pansy wanted some.

"Where're you off to?"

"Going round to Pansy's soon; we haven't gone over the new assignment yet." _I like girls, maybe, and am about to make tea and take it with me on the off chance Pansy Parkinson decides she wants to wet her perfectly smudge-proof-lipsticked lips. _

Lavender lifted her finger warningly. "If you don't care about Gareth, I'm cutting his picture out of your copy so I don't have to ruin mine."

"Go for it." _**Is** it smudge-proof? _

"I'll put him by my mirror," Lavender continued in a singsong voice, "so he'll be smiling at me first thing in the morning, and you're not allowed to be jealous."

_All things considered, I highly doubt that's going to be a problem._ "Right, whatever. See you later!" No, she couldn't tell Lavender, not yet. She had to be sure this Pansy ridiculousness was the real thing and not just some flash of desperation. It could just be overactive hormones and the lack of any decent male specimens that was doing it. As she tucked the tea into her shoulder bag, Parvati resolved to look through all her old magazines to see if there was anything in them about repression. That and exactly what it meant when you caught yourself imagining the best way to test the properties of a female classmate's lipstick.

"I am so tired," Pansy proclaimed once when they met, only ten minutes in.

"Caffeine?" Parvati proffered the tea and congratulated herself on keeping a neutral expression when Pansy took a few sips.

"Come on," announced Pansy, hopping up abruptly. "It's too damn late to focus on anything anyway. I'll show you the dress robes I've got. Everyone else is too insipid to appreciate them properly. Except Blaise; he can name a designer pretty much at a glance. Makes you wonder, yeah?" she said, slanting a glance and a smile Parvati's way.

Parvati followed her up a capriciously zigzagging staircase without question, replaying that look in here mind again and again. "So," she said, only half joking, "you won't get drummed out of your House for affiliating with a Gryffindor?" Inviting guests back from different Houses wasn't generally done, and she courteously covered her ears when Pansy uttered the Slytherin password.

Pansy sniffed and stepped into a common room that was, Parvati gratefully noted, empty aside from a few gangly first years engrossed in a game of Exploding Snap. "There's a difference between having standards and being fascist. My father would be furious if he found out I was letting other people make my choices for me." Parvati had heard about Pansy's father and how he had made some ominous choices of his own, but she didn't mention that.

"My mum takes me to Italy on holidays, so I find most things there," she went on, and Parvati could picture it, Pansy wearing angular sunglasses and a devastatingly expensive slip of a dress, looking like a magazine cover. Pansy, who had dark eyes and brows and contrastingly blond hair, lighter than Lavender's. Hers was more bronze, burnished and bright. Pansy's was anemically pale and gleamed like white gold.

"'s pretty," she murmured, too preoccupied to pretend she was looking at the robes and not the glint of lamplight off Pansy's hair.

She was reassuring herself that the staring wasn't horribly obvious when Pansy locked the door with an arch of her brows and a flick of her wand and said, "Right, now let's get to it."

Parvati stared, and then she laughed. "Excuse me?"

"You've got a crush, haven't you?"

Parvati couldn't speak.

"I can _tell_, Parvati," Pansy over-enunciated, hands planted on her hips "I've been crushed on before. Only thing is, I don't mind so much this time. You're a lot more interesting to be around than I'd have thought."

"That's a compliment?" Parvati's brain suddenly felt too small for her head, every thought rattling around like a marble swirling along the rim of an enormous bowl. And she couldn't be sure she was hearing right, because it couldn't be so simple, not with another girl. Not with a Slytherin.

"It is."

Pansy didn't hold back a thing. She giggled and groaned and kicked her heels against the mattress when Parvati's fingers tripped over her ribs through the cloth of her blouse, feeling how wet the heat of her mouth was, trying not to think of how her parents would probably disown her in a heartbeat if they ever knew about what she was doing.

"Is it weird?" Pansy mumbled into her cheek, voice all jumbled up and as close to tentative as she'd ever sounded.

Nothing to lose by lying, Parvati shifted her shoulders and confessed, "Dunno, not like I've ever done anything like this."

"Same." She hooked her fingers into the blackness of Parvati's belt and drew her in again, one more time, before it was time for dinner and propriety and Parvati went dancing down the halls without thinking twice about who might be watching or wondering.

They went up to Pansy's room another time for a snack, which led to the inevitable. Pansy complimented her necklace, and Parvati felt a heatedness in her face that wouldn't bank for hours. She knew her clothes weren't expensive, but she could make anything look like it was. Classmates had told her so often enough for her to take it as the truth. In spite of her otherwise polished appearance, Pansy kept her nails short and plain; Parvati remembered a hushed, giggle-punctuated conversation with Lavvie, and Lavvie saying her sister had told her one way to tell a lesbian was by the nails. At the time, Parvati had thought immediately of Hermione.

"It was supposed to be Pandora," Pansy was murmuring, twisted under the sheet, shirt half-undone, "but my mum said everyone would call me Pansy and my idiot father thought that was the better of the two."

Outside the next day, it was windy and Parvati watched as Pansy's skirt flew up and the other girl smoothed it down, still looking composed. They met, and Pansy hadn't changed out of her school clothes, but her blouse was untucked and the bottom buttons unfastened, tie tight and hanging free. Parvati had on a tank top under her robes, her hair falling free over it like a cloak, her mind imagining Pansy's light fingers plucking the straps of it aside. Lavender asked what she was getting all done up for and she hadn't answered other than with a grin. It was in their usual empty classroom room and Pansy's nipples were small and tight under her gauzy top, which made Parvati's stomach convulse like the last time she'd accepted a sweet from a Weasley, only much more pleasant.

They ended up kissing after comparing notes on how the boys they'd been with came up short. For her part, Parvati was pretty sure what sex was supposed to be like and even more sure that boys had no clue. More to it than just the clumsy scrabbling fingers, anyway.

Parvati had her hands pressed on either side of Pansy's spine, keeping her close where they curled on a makeshift mattress of commingled cloaks, stroking the way she stroked Padma's cat at home. "I don't guess that matters so much nowadays, right? No one says you have to get married to make something of yourself, you know."

"Sort of like to say fuck it all and just apply for some study-abroad program," Pansy admitted. "Keep my distance. Sign with a modeling agency, maybe, if I wasn't built like a damn gnome."

She hadn't ever thought about someone like Pansy having aspirations outside the Ministry. It made her wonder what other things might be hidden away. "So tell me. What do you want?"

Pansy looked up at her. "Sing me a song."

"Easy as that?"

"Easy as that."


End file.
